Emergency Surgery
by Ramos
Summary: Just a little "Let's torture Logan" short.


Emergency Surgery  
  
The clump of grass refused to budge, so Logan kicked it again. Changing angles helped, and after several more kicks it came loose. He nodded approvingly at it and moved to the next clump of grass.  
  
"Would you knock that off?" Rogue huffed at him from where she lay sprawled on her stomach several feet away, chewing on a blade of grass and from all appearances enjoying the pale spring sunshine. Her black leather uniform was an excellent passive solar collector.  
  
Logan gave her the glare that made most rednecks back up a good ten feet, but didn't faze her in the slightest. "I'm bored, kid. This waitin' around crap is for the birds." They'd been waiting out here in this field for so long the engines in the Blackbird, parked several yards away, had stopped pinging as they cooled. Rogue had just been qualified as a pilot, and had been left in charge of the jet. And him, since their leader tended to keep Logan wherever he wasn't.  
  
"We're backup, Logan. That means we wait until we're needed." He tensed, suddenly hopeful as she reached for her earbug and adjusted it, but she was only brushing her hair out of the way. "Remember, those also serve who…"  
  
"Quote that at me again and you're gonna need your jaw wired shut," he snapped, and she stopped, but only out of amused indulgence, not fear.  
  
Rolling over on her back, Rogue gathered her multi-colored hair into a coil and leaned on her hands, staring at the sky. She shifted her shoulder, then rolled it. Abruptly she sat up.  
  
Logan contemplated another tempting clump of grass until her continued movement caught his attention and drew a smirk. That's what you get for rolling around in the grass, kid. Chiggers and no-see-ums live down there.  
  
Rogue continued to rub her ribs and squirm, getting to her feet and pacing several feet further away.  
  
"What are you doin'?" he finally asked. "Relax, kid. No bugs can live in your clothes for long."  
  
She shot him a look that could have peeled paint, her spine continuing to curve in interesting poses. His sensitive hearing picked up the sound of her zipper when she turned her back to him.  
  
"Dammit," she muttered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
He could see her elbows moving as she wrestled with something.  
  
"Need some help there, darlin'?"  
  
"No. Yes. Crap!"  
  
Stifling a snicker, Logan strolled over to her, and she turned to face him.  
  
"Logan, I need to borrow your claw for a second, okay?"  
  
He stopped dead in his tracks as he realized her uniform was unzipped. Not just a little. A lot. Not down to her navel 'a lot' but far enough. She wears green lingerie? he thought, amazed.  
  
"Rogue, why are you…" He gestured to her chest vaguely.  
  
"Damned underwire." She muttered, then glanced up at his face. "Logan. Claw!" She snapped her fingers at him, breaking his trance. Mystified, he extended an index claw, and both eyebrows rose as she took his fist in one of her gloved hands and clenched her breast in the other.  
  
He frowned in sudden apprehension. Did she want him to cut her?  
  
Angling his wrist carefully, she bent his arm and brought the back of it against her chest. "That lump, right there in the fabric, Logan. Just nick it, and the wire will pop right out."  
  
Now that he looked, just to one side of that intoxicating swell of pale skin was the edge of her bra.  
  
Part of the green lacy cup stood up stiffly, a frayed spot showing a plastic tip with a rough spalled edge.  
  
Letting her control his fist, he did his best to concentrate on the task at hand, so to speak, and not the amazing view down her cleavage. The faintest touch of razor sharp adamantium split the satin and a flat wire curve with its plastic tip sprang free. He watched, fascinated, as she grabbed it and pulled, hips shimmying and body wiggling slightly as the metal arc was pulled from the green fabric. The scent of warm leather and warm Marie reached his nostrils, entered his lungs, and kept on heading south.  
  
"God, that feels better," she said. "Hey, where you going? Get back here." Rogue pulled the other side of her uniform down a little further. "Think I wanna be lopsided?"  
  
"Uhm, no, guess not."  
  
Obediently, he nicked the other side and watched appreciatively as she again performed the extraction dance. Watched as she took a deep breath with relief, and all that deep breath did for her. Tried not to pout as she zipped her uniform up.  
  
"What?" She asked, catching his expression. Desperate, he tried to think of a cover.  
  
"Why do you wear those things, anyway?"  
  
"What, underwires? Last time we went shopping, Jean seemed to think I needed the support. Support, my butt. You don't see Scott wearing a cup every time he suits up, do ya?"  
  
"Nope." Logan knew he wouldn't strap one of those on, though it might just explain something about Cyclops.  
  
"Damned straight." She glared at the two metallic torture devices in her hands. "As soon as we get home, I'm giving every bra I own an underwire- ectomy." She gave him a brilliant smile before he could formulate a way to ask if she'd need help.  
  
"Thanks, sugar. I appreciate you not going all weird on me. Bobby would have been a total drool monster."  
  
Logan swallowed carefully. "Any time, kid." 


End file.
